


Cursed

by molossiamerica (afjakwrites)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, M/M, alfred is part of a cursed family, arthur is a demon, cause arthur is supposed to make alfred's life a living hell and all, they're definitely not supposed to be together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 20:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14961950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afjakwrites/pseuds/molossiamerica
Summary: The Jones family is cursed, but Alfred doesn’t view his demon as much of a problem.This fic is based off of the comic Cursed by the lovely charminglyantiquated (tumblr), who gave me permission to post this. :) If you haven’t seen the comic or any of their other stuff, I highly recommend you check it out!





	Cursed

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from my writing blog @afjakwrites on tumblr.

Alfred is seventeen when the demon first visits him. He is older-looking, but not too much—probably in his mid-twenties. He has choppy blond hair, green eyes, pale skin covered in freckles, and some of the thickest eyebrows Alfred has ever seen. He’s perched on the edge of Alfred’s desk, arms folded across his chest and smirking teasingly at Alfred. He’s wearing a green sweater and tan slacks, which Alfred finds odd for a demon, but he doesn’t dare say anything.

Instead, he fiddles with the ring on his finger. Each member of his family has one, as every member of his family is similarly affected. The Jones family line had been cursed for as far back as anyone could remember—anyone with Jones blood would be haunted by a demon from their seventeenth birthday on. While no two demons were alike and no other member of the family could see another person’s demon, everyone was well aware of them, and everyone seventeen or older wore a ring which protected them from the demon. As long as they wore it, the demon could never touch or physically harm them.

“Hi,” Alfred says somewhat nervously, “I’m Alfred.”

The man rolls his eyes. “I know who you are, boy.” He says in a thickly British-accented voice. “I see they gave me a stupid one. I thought your family was known for their intelligence?”

Alfred smiles, amused by the comment. He’d always had a rather thick skin, and his confidence in himself prevented him from being offended by petty comments. “Guess you drew the short stick, then.” He replies with a shrug.

The man frowns grumpily at Alfred. “Anyone who interacts with your family has.”

“Yeah, well, whether that’s true or not we’re stuck together, so. What’s your name?” Alfred questions.

The man’s thick brows were pulled downward and he fixed Alfred with a dark scowl. “You know, it’s not very traditional for us to make idle chit-chat. I’m here to make your life a living hell, you know.”

Alfred seems even more amused and grins at the demon, bright blue eyes sparkling. “Geez, you guys really do take this seriously. My family told me you guys weren’t nice, but I didn’t think you were really gonna make my life hell.”

“Well, it’s your family’s fault some witch decided to curse your ancestors. Now a demon is randomly selected every time one of you idiots turns seventeen. You would think your family would simply stop reproducing, but apparently the primal urges of your nature far outweigh the emotional toll it takes on your offspring.” The man scowls.

“Hey, man, you won’t have to worry about that with me. Trust me, I wouldn’t ever subject a kid to the sight of eyebrows like that.” Alfred teases, grinning at the man in front of him.

The demon pauses a moment, seeming surprised by Alfred’s response. Then, his face turns red with anger and embarrassment and he snatches a pencil cup off of Alfred’s desk, throwing them in the American’s direction.

Alfred watches the pencils and their container hit the wall and then fall to the floor, scattering around him. A few bounce off the floor, a pink mechanical pencil landing on his foot. He looks up at the man, blue eyes searching his face for a moment. Then, he shrugs his shoulders and flops down upon his bed.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Alfred says breezily, propping his head up on his elbow and grinning at the demon.

The demon slumps back against Alfred’s desk looking exasperated. “Christ, I hope you die quickly.” He huffs.

Alfred laughs.

The demon throws a notebook at the wall above his head.

* * *

 

The demon follows Alfred most places he goes (aside from the bathroom and the shower). They fall into a simple routine; the demon tries his hardest to make Alfred’s life a living Hell and, despite his “demon” label, fails. It quickly becomes clear that this particular demon isn’t all too interested in the idea of hurting Alfred, and while he clearly dislikes the man, he rarely does more than cause minor inconveniences in Alfred’s life, which the American takes in stride and often taunts him for.

A year passes this way. For the most part, the demon doesn’t speak to Alfred, despite the American’s frequent attempts to speak to him. Alfred tries to make conversation several times each day and is consistently shot down by the demon. Even so, every day Alfred begins by asking him how he slept. Then, he leaves breakfast out for the demon—they don’t need to eat and Alfred knows this, but the Brit eats it every day despite claiming his indifference toward the meal. Afterward, he heads to school for the day; he’s eighteen and a senior. From there, it’s home to change, and then to his minimum wage job at a fast food restaurant. Finally, he reheats whatever dinner his mother makes for him and his demon, and the demon listens as Alfred recounts his day, often making snarky commentary regarding Alfred’s intelligence (or lack thereof), or whatever else he can think to insult at the time.

It’s after a particularly draining day when Alfred is laying in bed, his dinner cold and untouched on the nightstand, that the demon speaks first.

“Your food is getting cold.” He says, scooping the peas off his plate and into his mouth afterward.

Alfred doesn’t look at him. “I’m not hungry.” He mumbles, his voice tired.

The demon frowns. “You’re never not hungry.” He argues, thick brows furrowed.

“Yeah, well, I’m not hungry right now.”

The demon stands up and moves to stand by Alfred’s bed, peering down at the American with a disapproving frown. “What’s wrong with you today?” He huffs.

Alfred stares up at the demon, his eyes tired. The demon has never seen him looking so upset before, and it awakens a painful pang in his chest. He ignores it and kicks at one of the American’s bedposts, attempting to get a response from the man.

“What the hell do you care?” Alfred snaps in response, glaring up at the man. “Just leave me the fuck alone for once, okay? God. My life was hell even without your help today, so give it a fucking rest.”

The demon falters, looking guilty. He closes his mouth and sits on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

Alfred turns his head and looks at him. “Seriously, dude, why do you care?”

The demon flushes. “I don’t!”

Alfred perks up, staring at him with interest. He seems to know that the demon cares more than he lets on, and decides to try his luck. “Tell me your name.”

“What?” The demon is looking at him like he’s crazy.

“C'mon. I’ve known you for a year now and I don’t know your name. That’s ridiculous.”

“How do you know I have one?”

Alfred pauses then, seeming somewhat surprised. “Truth be told, I hadn’t thought of that. I guess I just assumed you’d been human once since you have a human appearance.”

The demon eyes him warily. “Well, your logic is ridiculous but your intuition is correct. I was a human at one point… And my name was Arthur Kirkland.”

Alfred practically shoots into a sitting position, leaning forward with interest. His golden hair is falling into his face and he’s beaming, his smile brighter than the sun itself. His bright blue eyes are wide with surprise and they sparkle wonderfully. Very suddenly, the demon is struck with the beauty the young man possesses.

“Dude, holy shit! Did you really just tell me your name?!” Alfred cries, astonished.

Arthur’s face flushes. “Y-You asked for it, you dolt! Besides, you’ve been pestering me day and night for it—I was sick of your foolish antics, that’s all! D-Don’t think it had anything to do with wanting to cheer you up, because that is the absolute last thing on my mind!”

Alfred is laughing now, his head thrown back as lovely bouts of laughter escape him. “Haha, okaaaay, Artie!”

“Sh-Shut up, you arse! I swear, if you weren’t wearing that ring I’d throttle you—!” Arthur huffs, cursing himself for the redness spread across his pale cheeks.

* * *

 

From there, friendship comes easy. Alfred is relentlessly persistent, and manages to coax more and more information from Arthur each day. Within six months, the pair are familiar with each other; they’ve recounted their childhoods to the other, spoke of their friends and acquaintances, and gotten to know the basics of the other person.

Arthur explains his capabilities to Alfred; it is required that he spends at least twelve hours with Alfred per day according to the curse, and Alfred must be awake for at least five of these hours. Other than that, though, he is free to roam the Earth as he pleases, however no one can see, hear, or feel him. He also has the option to return to Hell to visit, and he tells Alfred that this is where he spends most of his time. He tells Alfred of his few friends, speaking particularly of a demon named Francis whom he is particularly close with (though Arthur claims to hate the “obnoxious French frog” with a passion).

Another six months passes, and Alfred considers Arthur to be his friend.

His family doesn’t approve. They think Arthur is fooling Alfred somehow; his mother warns him that Arthur could be tricking him in order to make him remove his ring. His father tells him that demons will do anything to harm members of the Jones family, including emotional manipulation. His half-brother, Matthew, does not mention the shortcomings of the Jones’ demons. Instead, he tells Alfred that it is important that he trust himself above all others, and make the right decision, no matter what anyone else says. He encourages the American to exercise caution, but reminds him that he is the only one on Earth who truly knows Arthur, and therefore the only one who can judge what is wrong and right regarding their relationship.

Alfred heeds his brother’s words and remains wary of Arthur despite his growing affection for the man. Another six months of casual friendship fly by and he’s nineteen, living in an apartment in a city two hours from home with a part-time enrollment at a cheap local college and a full-time job as a data entry worker for a law firm.

There is less to distract Alfred and Arthur from each other now. Because Alfred lives alone, they spend most of their time together. Alfred becomes accustomed to cooking enough for two, and they take turns watching TV. They start a list of movies they both want to see, and once a week Alfred rents one off the list for them to watch together. Arthur feeds Alfred’s cat, Hero, and tends to the plants Alfred purchased for him. When the American is too tired from work and school, Arthur tidies up the apartment for him. Alfred even buys a futon for Arthur when the Brit mentions the awkwardness of staying up all night while he sleeps and gives the spare room to Arthur.

They go shopping together, Arthur picking out what he wants and Alfred adding it to the cart. Sometimes, Alfred gets takeout for two and brings it back to the apartment. On Alfred’s twentieth birthday, Arthur attempts to bake a cake and almost starts a fire in the apartment.

Their relationship has moved from tense, to strained, to easy, to happy. Alfred’s family thinks he’s crazy, but he swears his demon is amazing. He tells his brother that Arthur is less a curse and more a blessing. Arthur’s visits to Hell become infrequent; even in the time he isn’t required to be with Alfred, he spends most of his days in the apartment which both he and Alfred refer to as “home.” When he does visit Hell to visit Francis, he speaks mostly of Alfred.

Alfred still doesn’t take his ring off. Neither he nor Arthur acknowledge the barrier between them, despite their awareness of it. Arthur doesn’t ask why Alfred doesn’t trust him; he knows why. No matter how close they grow, Arthur is still a demon, and his primary mission in life had once been to make Alfred’s life miserable. While they both know that is no longer the case, the ring remains settled upon Alfred’s finger.

Arthur resents that ring. The more time he spends with Alfred, the more he craves Alfred’s touch. The more he wishes he could run his hands through Alfred’s hair, down his body. He wants to explore Alfred’s gorgeous form; cup Alfred’s face in his hands, run his palms down the American’s muscular chest… He wants Alfred to touch him, too; to take him into his arms and kiss him roughly, hold him tight. He wants to kiss every inch of Alfred’s body, and he wants Alfred to do the same. He wants to feel Alfred everywhere, wants to feel the American pressing into him, ravishing him. Yes, he resents that ring.

Unbeknownst to him, Alfred resents the ring, too.

* * *

 

Alfred tells Arthur he’s been invited to Matthew’s birthday party. He invites Arthur along, but Arthur declines; large parties have never been his forte, especially those where no one can see, feel, or hear him aside from Alfred. He’s perched on the living room couch with Hero in his lap when Alfred leaves, and he’s still there when he hears the doorknob twisting.

He can hear Alfred outside humming something while he fumbles with his keys, so Arthur gently pushes Hero from his lap and goes to the door, opening it for Alfred.

At the sight of him, Alfred beams and stumbles into the apartment. Arthur shuts the door behind him and raises a brow as Alfred staggers toward the couch, leaning against the back of it. He grins at Arthur, his smile dopey and his eyes glossy.

“Hi, Artie,” Alfred slurs, smiling at the Brit as if he knows a secret.

“Hello, Alfred. How was the party?” Arthur asks, humored by the blond’s demeanor.

Alfred giggles as if Arthur has said something funny and nods his head rapidly. “Ooooooh it was pretty fun, Artie. Pretty damn fun if you ask me. Had a lotta drinks.”

Arthur can’t stifle the chuckle that erupts at the younger’s statement. “Yes, I’m well aware of that, love. How much did you drink?”

“Does it matter?” Alfred asked before standing up.

He staggers toward Arthur and reaches out, as if wanting to cup the Brit’s face. Of course, his hand slips through Arthur; the Brit stares, bewildered, as Alfred waves his hand around in the space where Arthur’s face should be and shakes his head.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asks, feigning a teasing smirk despite the horrid pang in his chest that reminds him that he’ll never have the pleasure of feeling Alfred’s touch. He’s sure those hands are warm and strong, and begins to speak once more to distract himself from imagining the feeling of Alfred’s arms around him. “You know we can’t touch each other, love.”

“Yeah, we fucking can,” Alfred growls out, looking annoyed. “I wanna touch you, Arthur. D'you wanna touch me too?”

Arthur stares at him, incredulous. Deciding Alfred is too drunk to remember it the next day, he nods. “Yes, I want to touch you, Alfred.” He answers, his throat constricting painfully as he says it.

“Then fucking touch me,” Alfred says.

He reaches down, wrenching the ring off of his finger without a hint of hesitation. Arthur’s jaw falls open and he gapes at Alfred, but doesn’t get the chance to speak before the American has reached out and grabbed his face in his hands and, oh, they’re better than Arthur could have ever imagined.

They’re calloused and warm and strong and shaky and they wrench his face forward and then the plush lips Arthur had long fantasized about are on his and Alfred is kissing him and it’s more than everything he’d ever wanted. Alfred is drunk and sloppy but even so he takes charge of the kiss and Arthur melts in the heat of his passion, hardly able to keep from slumping to the floor with how weak his knees are. Alfred walks him backwards until they hit the wall and Arthur’s hands find Alfred’s hair, tugging at it.

Alfred rocks his hips against Arthur and Arthur follows in suit, rolling his body forward in order to create friction between them. He moans into the kiss and Alfred pulls away. His hands fall from Arthur’s face and he takes Arthur by the wrists, shoving them backward into the wall. He’s holding Arthur down and Arthur is breathless, gasping as Alfred’s lips latch onto his neck. He’s moaning and whimpering Alfred’s name, dissolving weakly between the wall and Alfred’s body.

Alfred releases one of Arthur’s wrists in order to grip the Brit’s waist and Arthur takes the opportunity to grab Alfred’s belt buckle. It takes longer than it should have to get it done because Alfred can’t stop himself from grinding against Arthur, and the Brit only has one free hand. He finally manages to get it undone and leaves it hanging open, unzipping Alfred’s jeans. Then, he’s got a hand down the front of Alfred’s pants and Alfred is moaning and biting down on Arthur’s neck, and—

“Um… Al?”

Arthur jolts and Alfred lets out a startled cry as he leaps away from Arthur, stumbling a step. Arthur reaches out and grabs his arm, steadying him before he can fall.

Matthew is standing in the doorway, looking back and forth between Alfred and Arthur. “…Who’s this, Al?”

Alfred blinks rapidly. “…You can see him?” He asks, surprised.

Matthew frowns. “Of course I can see him.” He replies, confused.

Arthur clears his throat and steps forward. “E-Erm, hello… I’m Arthur Kirkland.” He says, flushing from the embarrassment of being caught.

Matthew freezes, eyes bulging. “Arthur Kirkland? As in, Alfred’s demon?”

The Brit’s face goes even redder, embarrassed. “Er, that would be me, yes.”

Matthew glances to Alfred’s hand, noting the absence of his ring. “…You didn’t kill him.” He said simply.

Arthur glances at Alfred. “Ah… No. I didn’t kill him.”

“Well, that’s good. Al has always had good instincts. He said you wouldn’t hurt him.” Matthew says, nodding approvingly. Then, he glances down to his hands, jolting at the sight of a coat held in his hands. “He forgot his jacket in my car. Um… Do you have him from here, or should I stay?”

“No, I’ll, er, I can take care of him if you like.” Arthur replies sheepishly, accepting the jacket Matthew hands him.

Alfred grins as he looks between them. “Does this mean you’re real now, Artie?” He asks.

Arthur looks to Alfred and then to his brother, shrugging. “I’m not exactly sure. Perhaps we can test it tomorrow when you’re sober, love.” He suggests, taking Alfred’s arm.

Alfred grins dopily at him. “Man, Artie, you’re sexy when you’re all messed up. ’S like a map of all the places I touched you,” he mused, running a hand along Arthur’s neck where spots of reddened skin were beginning to appear.

Arthur’s cheeks burn red and he gazes pointedly at the floor, far too embarrassed to look Matthew in the eye.

“I’ll see myself out,” says Alfred’s half-brother before leaving the apartment.

“Bye Mattieeeeeeeeeee!” Alfred hollers to his brother as Arthur drags him to his bedroom.

“Ooooh, sweet!” Alfred grins, scooping Arthur up and tossing the Brit easily onto the bed.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Arthur cries, and Alfred pauses in his movements to clamber atop of the man, frowning in confusion. Arthur sighs. “As much as I would love to, Alfred, we shouldn’t. I got caught up before, but you’re far too drunk.” The Brit says.

Alfred stares at him for a moment before a goofy smile takes over his face and he nods, falling down onto the bed beside Arthur. Arthur plucks his spectacles off the bridge of his narrow nose and sets them on the nightstand. Alfred hooks an arm around the Brit’s waist and tugs him closer, holding him tightly as he falls asleep.

* * *

 

Alfred wakes to a warm body pressed against his and jolts.

“Shit,” he says loudly, cursing himself for the sudden movement as his head begins to throb.

The figure beside him begins to stir and he looks down, only for his jaw to drop. The green eyes he’s grown to love flutter open and then land on Alfred. To the American’s surprise, Arthur smiles sweetly at him, his eyes full of what Alfred could only describe as blissful happiness and affection.

“…Arthur?” Alfred whispers, shocked at the sight of the man laying beside him. “Holy shit, am I touching you? Is this real?”

Arthur’s smile turns into a smirk. “I take it you’ve dreamt of this, then?” He chuckles.

Alfred pauses. Then, he grins. “Did I take off my ring last night?”

Arthur raises one of his thick brows as if to ask are you really that daft? “Obviously.”

“Well, that’s pretty fucking cool,” Alfred replies, a wide grin splitting across his face. After a moment, he looks down at Arthur with mischief shining in his blue eyes. “Dude, did you put your hand in my pants? Were you gonna give me a handjob right then and there?”

As expected, the Brit’s face bloomed a brilliant red color. “Oh, belt up! Y-You were kissing my neck and—”

“And you were so fucking sexy, god damn. It’s a little hazy, but I don’t think I could ever forget the way you sounded when you moaned my name like that. Damn.”

Arthur looked up at him, a small frown coming to his face. “Are you sad that we didn’t do anything last night?”

“No. It was nice just to hold you.” He murmured gently.

Arthur smiled and laid his palm on Alfred’s face, caressing it gently. The American smiled, and Arthur ran his hand across the American’s lips, sighing dreamily.

“Alfred?” He asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Alfred grinned. “I love you too, Arthur.”


End file.
